Never Again
by BreakMeAgain
Summary: Basically, this is one short story I wrote long ago. I'm now entering it in a contest for Gaia.


Hello, I'm, Arigo Mayazuki. That's Air-e-go May-a-zoo-key. And well, here's my story. I grew up watching T.V. and everything. The whole nine yards with the super hero junk. But as I got older I refined my sense of hero. I got to the nitty gritty, what made a hero? If you really want to know, read this book.

There was a key under the mat to my house. The wind blew so fast that I could hardly breathe anymore. But, just a few more blocks to my house. It was winter, freezing rain and blowing wind January. Leaves had long since fallen from the trees, and although they'd been raked off twice this week, they still scattered my yard.

I turned a corner, paying little attention to the stop sign, the cars, and the slick roads. I didn't care anymore. My house was in view, and the long wind still hadn't stopped. My vision was going black and I strained to see my house.

The house was brick, mixing a dark red with the usual light red, spacing them out every so foot to seem like it had taken work to make the house. To seem as if it was more than a building, but a masterpiece, a fine work of creative flare for the entire neighborhood.

Wind chilled my bones as I walked closer and closer to the house, still being deprived of air. I had an uncontrollable urge to cough, and did so, losing even more air to the vicious wind. I kept my pace.

What was I to do? Not about the current issues, but about my _life_ issues. These fine predicaments I found myself in, every step of the way, every wake of the day? Nothing ever seemed to go wrong at my small-town school. Nothing at all, yet I went home at the end of the week angry, pissed off, annoyed, ready to strike. I was tired, sagging under the weight of my body. That, as if by some type of torture, grew stronger and heavier everyday with the advanced PE courses. I got stronger everyday, but muscle weighs more than fat, and although I was pretty lean, I still couldn't sustain myself at the end of the day. I felt dizzy, light-headed. Nothing I did helped. I ate extra food, to try and get a higher blood-sugar. Maybe that was my problem, I could be falling out from diabetes and nobody would know because of this small… small… small town.

Yes, a middle of Missouri, Huckleberry Finn and smaller, small town. With a population of near nothing, the entire town was ruined. No stores except a quick mart, a gas station, and the infamous liquor store. But nothing could be done. I had lived in a big town before. Somewhere off in a big city. It was a big school there. I could walk around and if I messed up I could rely on my friends. I could always find someone new to talk to and I could always help do something. Now? Now I was lucky to be able to wipe my nose without someone knowing what I was doing. Without telling everybody about the funny noise I make when I blow my nose, the same one that everyone makes. It annoys me greatly to understand that they don't even think the way I blow my nose is funny. They just want to bitch about something so they can feel special, so they can pass time.

I walked up to my porch and my body, so deprived of air, was turning blue all over. My hands were a deep purple. I felt the pores opening on my face, trying to get something to breath. I picked up the edge of the mat to get the key. I opened the storm door and the wind blew it from my hand. I grab it and pull it to a close as I quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside the house. As soon as I entered, the key fell from my hand. Blood was everywhere. On the floor, the walls, the ceiling, everywhere was layered with the stuff. The only place that was clear of it was a mirror in the corner. In marker it read, "**Your mother is dead, and I killed her, one down, five to go…****"**

I had no brothers, sisters, I didn't even have a dad for Christ's sakes! My mom was the only one I had left! I felt rage and hatred as I left everything alone. I walked outside of the house. Into the cold freezing wind, which had just stopped blowing. My mom was gone. She had been sick for the past few weeks. Cancer. But cancer, though a horrible disease it was, did _not_ go into _my_ house _and kill_ my _mother_ and cover the walls in _her blood_!!!

I went to the shed. It was in the back of the yard, a small shack with barely any tools. Just enough for me to mow the lawn and fix stuff that broke. Mechanics were my specialty. I believed that you had to be cunning to master a screwdriver. You had to understand how to find, trigger, and repair simple machines in a stream of others. But I wasn't going to the shed for a screwdriver, but a weapon. Something to slash the life out of whoever did this. But as I pulled back the door, I found that I was going to, indeed, kill the person very good. Nothing went through my mind but anger as I opened the door. I'd come to the shed for a weapon of self defense, I left with a weapon of vengeance, a weapon of hate, of anger, of death and misery. I left with a blade named Zaraku. Do you want to know why such pain was instilled in my heart? Why such anger welled up inside me? Well I'll tell you.

I opened that door and the light flooded straight into the shed. My mother, completely empty of blood, hung from spikes and fishing hooks in place. In her heart was the blade I was looking for. It was the last thing my dad left me. He told me on his deathbed, "Son, use this… wisely…"

It was plunged into my mother's heart. Why? To hold a note in place. In black marker the note read, "**If you want vengeance, you'll have to take it**…" I ground my teeth and shuddered at the thought. I was surely going to destroy someone. I would obliterate them with every bone in my body! No one would stand in my way! _I was the predator, the killer was the prey… I was the hunter of the hunter… I was the one to bring a justice not seen in years to my life…_

I knew it was best to leave everything as it was, but now was not the time for knowledge. Now was the time for action. I took the blade from my mother's heart. I took the blade, and cursed for what seemed an eternity. I was so caught up in my feelings I felt the blade flying towards my heart. I stopped myself though. I couldn't die. Not yet. I had to get revenge. So there, I named my blade, later I figured out it was the other way around. But I said to the knife "Come with me Zaraku, we have killing to do. You are not a blade of death, but you are a blade of justice. You will serve as a weapon and I will be the enforcer, and together, we will take this monster down!"

I was going insane. Looking back at it now, I know that no normal human would talk to a knife. Knives to humans are just weapons. But I'm no normal human, and a knife, this knife, Zaraku, in particular, is more than a weapon. It is an unstoppable force, and me as the one who follows it, we are both unstoppable.


End file.
